Thoughts of Fire, Doors of Vegas [Seven]

A/N: Thanks for everyone who commented.

Pete woke up with a hangover.

It wasn’t exactly the worst one he’s had, but it’s near the top of his list. His head throbbed, he felt awful and the slightest sound provided by Hemingway split his head open.

But the warm weight on his chest gave him a smile that nearly split his face open. Patrick.

The hangover was so worth it.

Pete felt Patrick shift a little on his chest and let out a small groan. He rolled off of Pete and almost off the couch.

“Morning sunshine,” Pete murmured sleepily, sitting up slowly to give Patrick more room.

“Oh fuck, my head,” Patrick groaned, lying on the couch.

“This is what you get when you drink too much,” Pete said, rubbing Patrick’s shoulders soothingly.

Patrick looked up at Pete, and flushed. “Um,” He began, “Last night-”

“If you tell me that last night was a mistake, then I will kick you off this couch and play Nirvana as loud as possible.” Pete interrupted, glaring at Patrick.

Patrick managed a laugh, “It wasn’t. It wasn’t a mistake. It’s just awkward, now.”

“Awkward is overrated,” Pete said, waving his hand.

“I guess it is,” Patrick answered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He got up and made his way to the washroom.

Pete leaned back against the couch and pressed his face against the cushion to muffle his giggles. He was that happy.

Then he stopped. Okay, he was scaring himself. Why was he giggling?

“Breathe Pete,” He murmured, standing up and going into the kitchen. He started making coffee, the smell waking up his senses.

Suddenly another sweet, fresh aroma wafted into his nose. Patrick walked into the kitchen, seeming to have just washed up. He smelled like the scented candles Pete had placed all over the apartment last night. Fresh lavender or something.

Pete took a chance, pulled Patrick in close and pressed his nose to his neck. He inhaled sharply, and Patrick giggled softly.

“Good morning to you too.”

“I don’t want to do anything today,” Pete said, his words muffled by Patrick’s neck.

“And should I disagree?”

“You wouldn’t,” Pete smiled, “I’d make you stay with me.”

“Diva,” Patrick muttered, pulling away to pour a mug of steaming coffee.

The phone rang. Pete walked over and picked it up, but not before flipping Patrick off for his little statement.

“Hello?”

“Pete, it’s Victoria.”

Pete groaned and made a face at Patrick, who was looking at him curiously. “Victoria,” He mouthed, crossing his eyes.

Patrick giggled.

“Pete?” Victoria asked, sounding the silence.

“Yeah, what?” Pete regained his composure quickly.

“Dinner tonight, to relax and discuss the case, before we get back to the lab. What do you say, me, you, Patrick, Bill, Gabe, and Mike?”

Pete glanced at Patrick who was reading the Las Vegas Post. He could get used to that sight every morning in his kitchen for the rest of his life.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Pete said, “Fancy, sexy restaurant?”

Patrick looked at Pete, raising an eyebrow.

“Vegas’ finest,” Victoria promised. “I’ll call you.”

Pete hung up the phone.

“What was that all about?” Patrick questioned, sipping his coffee.

“Victoria wants us to have dinner with our colleagues.” Pete said delicately.

“I have a feeling you don’t like the people you work with.”

“I like you,” Pete pointed out, “I work with you, don’t I?”

Patrick pondered the thought, “You do like them.” He concluded, “But you don’t want anyone to know that.”

“I want pancakes,” Pete interrupted, “Do you know how to make them?”

“I’m not making pancakes for you, Pete.” Patrick said.

“Well,” Pete scoffed, “We go out. Because I really want pancakes.”

 He pulled Patrick away from the table, set his hat on his head, and dragged him out the door. They had all the time in the world, at least until Victoria made the call.

“Vegas against Chicago?” Pete asked Patrick over maple syrup.

“Chicago,” Patrick said, almost instantly, “It’s like my home, you know, man? I mean, crazy shit happens in Chicago, but there’s something that’s really like home, there. Whether it’s the cold winters or the biting wind all the time, it’s still my home.

“Vegas, on the other hand, I’ve only been here for a week, so I’m not sure what I think of it. So far, there are a lot of dead bodies. I’m not much of a partier, so I’m not too crazy about the Strip.”

Pete nodded. He whipped out a pen and wrote something on the napkin set in front of him. He finished with a flourish and pushed it towards Patrick.

Patrick read the napkin.

so are we boyfriend/boyfriend?

“What do you think?” Patrick answered, thanking the waitress (her nametag read Judy, a friendly looking middle aged woman), and pouring maple syrup on his pancakes.

“That’s not an answer,” Pete pouted, dumping an impressive amount of maple syrup on his plate.

“Well, let’s think this through,” Patrick said, mock-seriously, “I went over to your house, we watched a movie, we drank beer, we ate pizza, we got drunk, we didn’t make any declarations of love-”

“Doesn’t mean we’re not going to,” Pete interrupted.

“We made out and we fell asleep on your couch.” Patrick continued, ignoring him.

“Okay,” Pete replied, imitating Patrick’s mock-seriousness, as if discussing a case, “Let’s think this through, carefully. We didn’t have sex, although I wouldn’t have said no to that, we just fell asleep together.”

“That’s right,” Patrick answered, frowning, “Though the make-out session was pretty heated.”

There was a pause, before Pete and Patrick both looked at each other. And burst out laughing. The situation was just a little ridiculous.

Pete wiped tears from his eyes, still chuckling softly. Patrick had his head in his hands, shoulders shaking from the laughter. Pete hadn’t laughed like this in a long time.

It felt really good.

The phone rang at his apartment. Pete picked it up.

“Steakhouse at the Tangiers. Six o’clock. Be there.” Victoria hung up after that.

Pete looked at the clock. 5:30. They should get going.

“’Trick,” He called, “We have to go to dinner with our wonderful colleagues now.”

He said ‘colleagues’ as if it were something poisonous.

Patrick looked up, in the middle of reading “DNA: A Walk-Through for the Deepest Investigators.”

“You don’t want to read that,” Pete told him. “It’s really boring. I got it at a convention in San Francisco.”

Patrick shut the book. “Where are we going?”

“Steakhouse at the Tangiers,” Pete answered, “This should be fun.”

“Lovely,” Patrick muttered, “Casinos.”

Pete grinned, “It’s Vegas, baby.”

Victoria nudged her steak with her fork warily.

“Okay guys, let’s talk about the case.” Gabe said with his mouth full.

“Doctor?” Mike prompted Dr. Hurley, who was eating a salad, “What did you find out about the victims?”

“We can go over this again,” Dr. Hurley told him, “Victim number one is Jennifer Sumner. 16 years old. Killed on August 22, T.O.D. about 12:30 AM. There was cocaine and alcohol in her system. She was strangled to death, ligature strangulation. Compression of the trachea caused asphyxia.

“Victim number two is Natasha Anders. She’s 22 years old. Killed on August 23, T.O.D. about 10:30 PM. Died from blunt force trauma.

“Victim number three is Jillian Haines. 27 years old. Killed on August 24, T.O.D. about 3:00AM. She was smothered.”

“Smothered?” William frowned, sipping his water.

“With a pillow.” Victoria confirmed.

“Three different cases, yet they’re all linked by one murderer.” Pete said, shoving a forkful of beans in his mouth.

“You’re the lead CSI on this case,” William said kindly, “What do you think?”

“We’re supposed to be looking for a guy in a mask.” Pete rolled his eyes, “Like a guy from the legend of Zorro or something.”

“Okay, honestly? How can we just believe Diane Richard’s story?” Victoria questioned, “We don’t have a tiny bit of evidence that supports the theory that there was anybody else in those crime scenes.”

“What about the third one?” Patrick asked to nobody in particular.

“Well, I sent some fingernail scrapings to Mikey.” Dr. Hurley said to him, “Gabe found some short brown hairs on the victim, and I sent those to DNA as well.”

“Hopefully that’ll confirm Diane’s story.” Gabe muttered darkly.

“Well, when tox comes back, we’ll see if the victim was drugged.” Mike shrugged, “By the way, I’ve never had the money to come to this place.”

“It’s a great restaurant,” Victoria reassured, “I come here often.”

“Good,” Gabe replied, grinning, “You can pay the bill.”

Laughter rang around the table.

“Bastard,” Victoria said playfully, “I’m not paying it.”

“Well, let’s see, how many times have I paid for breakfast? I still remember, this month alone; ten times.”

Victoria let out an exaggerated groan, “I hate going to eat with you CSIs. You always make the detective pay.”

“I can help,” Patrick offered.

Victoria smiled warmly, “Always the sweetheart.”

Pete rolled his eyes at William, who hid his laughter in a coughing fit.

Victoria glared at him.

Mike hid his smile and looked at his watch. “Seven o’clock, guys. What does that mean?”

“It’s time to get to work,” Gabe groaned.

Pete frowned, “Shift starts at ten. Where are you guys going?”

The phone rang. Victoria answered it with a crisp, “Hello?”

She listened to the other line, nodded, “Alright, we’ll be there.”

“Who was that?” Gabe asked, slurping his water noisily. Pete still didn’t understand why he ordered a water. This was Vegas, baby.

“Detective Blackinton. He wants us at Summerlin, ASAP.”

“So much for work starting at ten,” Pete muttered, throwing down a handful of bills and wiping his mouth with his napkin.

So much for work starting at ten.